


The Serpent Within

by Nary



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Age Difference, Bisexual Female Character, Blood, Control Issues, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fisting, Flirting, Mentors, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rituals, Sex Magic, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-10
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 11:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There are challenges, and then there are insurmountable obstacles," Phedre said mildly.  "He has a daughter your age, and enough issues to fill Lac Briarel."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Serpent Within

Princess Ilphere's induction ceremony had just concluded, and the other members of the Covenant of the Serpent Reborn were welcoming her into their midst. Phedre was pleased with the way the ceremony had gone - the princess's visions were fascinating, if erratic - and more pleased to see their numbers swelling beyond their original boundaries. There were risks involved in inviting new members, of course, but she believed that the benefits would ultimately surpass them. Sanadhil's unexpected ties with Earric, for instance, had already yielded much of value.

Phedre watched, mildly amused, as Cynthea flirted, or attempted to flirt, with Butler. The Spokesman was tolerating her attentions for the moment, but Phedre was sure that very soon he would brush her off like an annoying fly. Sure enough, he disentangled his arm from her grip and strode over to Phedre. "Control the girl," he said in a disgusted undertone as he removed his robes to reveal his street clothes beneath.

"What makes you think I can?" she replied dryly.

"You're supposed to be the one in charge here," Butler snapped. "Act like it." He then left the subterranean chamber, following several other members out as the group began to disperse. Phedre lingered behind, cleaning up the instruments used in the joining ritual. When Cynthea looked as though she might be going to leave as well, Phedre beckoned her over.

"Give me a hand with this, dear," she instructed the young woman, passing her the chalice.

Cynthea took it, waiting with barely-disguised impatience for Phedre to put away the rest of the tools. The razor, Phedre folded and tucked back up her sleeve, into the little leather holster she'd had made for the purpose. "Why do you bother with him?" she asked as she fastened it into place.

Cynthea shrugged. "Can't a girl enjoy a challenge?"

"There are challenges, and then there are insurmountable obstacles," Phedre said mildly. "He has a daughter your age, and enough issues to fill Lac Briarel."

"Just once, I'd like to see him lose control," Cynthea said with a wicked grin that Phedre had to admire, even if she thought it sadly misguided.

"You'd be disappointed," she replied.

"Because he'll never fuck me?"

"Because even if he did, he wouldn't lose control."

Cynthea arched a suggestive eyebrow. "Are you speaking from experience?"

Phedre ignored the question. "Now if you want to fuck someone here, there are several other potential candidates, any of whom would be a better choice than M. Belden." She smiled fondly at the thought. "M. Orecalo, for instance, might well be agreeable to such an assignation."

Cynthea pouted. "He didn't seem very agreeable when I spoke with him last time. He was busy chatting up Bessa - _Bessa_ , of all people!"

"More than likely they were discussing scholarly matters, nothing more," Phedre said calmly. "If you catch him at a more opportune time, perhaps you'll have better luck. In fact," she added, "if you want I could invite you to join us next time he pays a visit to my home, and introduce the two of you …properly."

"I don't need you to arrange my assignations," Cynthea sniffed. "I'll manage on my own, thank you."

Phedre smiled. "Very well, my dear. It's good to have standards." She turned back to the altar, running her hands over its cool, slightly pitted stone surface. "You miss the public meetings, I imagine."

"They had their enjoyable aspects," Cynthea agreed.

"These rites must seem dull by comparison." Cynthea protested, but Phedre cut her off with a sharp gesture. "There are other rituals of the Serpent," she told the young woman. "Not so blatant as those we perform with the uninitiated, but far more... focused."

Cynthea's interest seemed to be piqued, and she took a step closer. "What sort of rituals?"

"Venerations of the flesh," Phedre explained, turning to face her acolyte. "Increasing our master's power with the energies of our bodies, offered gladly unto him."

"Well, why don't we do those at the meetings?" Cynthea asked, still sounding a little petulant.

"My dear, if done properly, they are extremely intense, and require an equally-intense focus. With too many people around, it would be distracting." She stroked Cynthea's cheek tenderly. "Much better with just two worshippers alone."

"Are you suggesting...?" Cynthea looked bemused, but intrigued.

"Why not? If you're so intent on fucking someone in the Covenant, I offer myself."

"You've got a daughter my age too, as I recall."

"Yes, but I also have far fewer moral compunctions than M. Belden," Phedre said with a sly smile.

"Will it even work with two women, though? There's no... serpent involved," Cynthea said with a giggle.

"It isn't about specific configurations of flesh," Phedre explained, as patiently as she could, "only the power that's generated by the act. And I imagine you and I could produce some exquisite power, don't you think?" She pulled the young woman closer, snaking an arm around her waist, which she could feel was cinched artificially tight by the corset beneath her robes. "Take this off," she instructed Cynthea, "and join me at the altar. I'll show you there's still much more to learn."

Cynthea was uncharacteristically shy in disrobing. Phedre watched her calmly as she unlaced her corset, letting her heavy breasts spill free. The young woman's figure, without the constraints of her undergarments, was ample and fleshy, reddened where the laces and boning had pinched her. In the chill of the underground chamber, her nipples stood out hard and dark against her caramel-coloured skin. Phedre slipped her own robe off, leaving her in her shift. Although she had borne three children, now all grown, and her youth was well past, her waist was still slim, her breasts firm. She tossed her head to loosen her hair from its knot, letting the mahogany waves, with only a few strands of grey to mar them, tumble down her back.

As they approached the altar together, Phedre felt a familiar shiver of anticipation glide down her back. It was a ritual she had performed before, from both sides, but the excitement never lessened. She turned to face Cynthea, putting her hands on the young woman's shoulders, and guided her until the small of her back met the chill stone, making her gasp. Phedre gave Cynthea a little boost so that she was seated on the altar, then pressed her slowly down until she was lying on the ancient slab, naked beneath Phedre's gaze.

The girl's skin was crawling with gooseflesh and she was trembling slightly. Phedre smiled and stroked her longingly, beginning at her throat and working her way down between those magnificent breasts, over the soft curve of her belly, and into the dark thicket between her legs. Cynthea drew in a sharp breath as Phedre's fingers parted her. It was no surprise to find that she was already slick, the way she'd been carrying on earlier. There was little need for these preliminaries, but it was all part of the rite. "Spread wider," she murmured, and Cynthea obligingly parted her legs further, until one hung over each side of the altar. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, as if she was uncertain what to do with them.

Phedre slipped a single finger into Cynthea's waiting cunt, and then a second. She held them there, unmoving, long enough that the girl began to squirm. "Be still," Phedre told her. "Throughout this rite, you must be patient. You must wait until you feel the Serpent within you, coiled about your spine and ready to spring, until you think you can no longer bear it, and then longer still."

Cynthea swallowed and nodded. Phedre felt her tense once more, then relax about her fingers, and smiled. Once she felt the last hints of tension leave the girl's body, she began to chant the ancient ritual. Cynthea would not understand the words, of course, but she would feel their power nevertheless. When her eyes slid shut, Phedre began to gently, slowly, stroke the inner walls of her pussy, circling and teasing. She deliberately avoided Cynthea's clit, even though she could see the little red-purple bud poking out eagerly between her softly furled lips, no doubt aching to be fondled. The girl didn't gasp or tighten up when Phedre added a third finger inside her, only sighed, and her legs were slack, dangling over the sides of the altar. Phedre was pleased with her current state of mingled arousal and relaxation, knowing that the longer they could prolong the rite, the more powerful the final result would be.

Cynthea was no blushing virgin, of course, and she could easily accommodate three fingers, especially such slender ones. Phedre began to spread her fingers apart, gradually working on stretching her acolyte's cunt open as far as it could go. She watched Cynthea's face as she did so, savouring the way her eyelashes flickered softly above her cheekbones and her tongue slid out to moisten her crimson lips. The girl was doing well, but Phedre was beginning to feel her muscles tense once more, so she brought her fingers back together and resumed her slow, intimate strokes.

It was only with the addition of the fourth finger that she felt Cynthea's back begin to arch involuntarily, a sign of the serpent beginning to twist at the base of her spine. Her breath was quickening too, despite her obvious efforts to keep calm. Even in the chill of the underground chamber, sweat was beading on her brow, between her ample breasts. Phedre felt the chant swell within her skin, filling her more thoroughly than any lover ever could, and spread her fingers wider. Cynthea cried out, a brief and quickly-stifled moan, but Phedre ignored her. She wouldn't come now, not until Phedre allowed her to - she was straddling the border between pain and pleasure, and she would remain there, pushed to her limits and beyond, until she was granted release.

The girl twisted beneath Phedre's manipulations, whimpering, near-sobbing at times, sometimes lifting her hips, other times spreading her legs even wider, to the point where it was surely painful for her. Phedre worked her fingers in even more deeply, turning her hand as she went, feeling the tight grip of Cynthea's trembling muscles all around her. Her cunt already looked stretched to the breaking point, and her tension ebbed and flowed with the rhythm of the song. Phedre could feel her own clit pulsing to the same beat. She channelled those feelings into her throat, giving them voice rather than letting them control her. There would be plenty of time for her own release later.

Soon, Cynthea moaned again, deep in her throat, and without further warning her bladder opened up, hot piss spilling over Phedre's hand. Phedre felt the throbbing from deep within Cynthea's body as the golden liquid gushed out of her, running down the altar stone to the chamber's floor. She frowned in disgust as urine dripped off her wrist, but she knew the girl couldn't help it. The forces overwhelming her body were simply too powerful, and something had to give way. When she was finally emptied, in fact, Phedre felt a little more room in her cunt, the tiny bit of extra leeway that would let her give the final push...

Cynthea's limbs were shuddering relentlessly now, and her eyes were open but unseeing. Her moans formed a constant counterpoint to Phedre's chant. There would be no better time, Phedre judged - the girl would not be able to endure it much longer. Tucking her thumb into her already-soaked palm, she forced the entirety of her hand into Cynthea's body. Cynthea screamed, her cunt stretched beyond any previous limits. Phedre knew well what she would be feeling now, and, smiling, ceased the chant. Cynthea whimpered and trembled, poised at the knife's edge of agony and bliss, impaled on her mistress's fist. "This is your offering," Phedre told her, though she doubted the girl could understand what she was saying in her current state. "This is your light, sent out into the cold darkness of the heavens. You have been opened to the Serpent's will. You are ready." And she bent her mouth to Cynthea's throbbing clit, tonguing it firmly, beckoning her follower into the blinding ecstasy of her orgasm. She gave her no mercy, continuing to lick and suck her swollen nub even as the girl's back bowed off the altar and she babbled words in a long-dead language that she did not understand. Phedre noted them calmly for future study, twitching her hand slightly to make Cynthea scream again.

Finally, when the words had dissolved into meaningless grunts and gasps, she raised her head. Cynthea's cunt was beating about her fist as though she was gloved within the girl's heart itself - she felt every flutter and spasm. Slowly, even a little regretfully, she began to slide her fist free, going slowly to spare Cynthea any unnecessary pain. There was a little blood on her knuckles, she noted, but the girl had endured it well. She lay almost still now, aside from the occasional twitch, eyes closed once again, her dark hair soaked with sweat. When Phedre was free from her, she gave a final shudder and sigh. She would grow cold quickly now, Phedre knew, and could not be allowed to sleep here in any case, not with her mind still thrown open. "Up," she told her, and the girl obeyed automatically. Phedre helped her from the altar and wrapped her in her robe, then put on her own robe again as well. Cynthea's legs shook as if she was palsied, and her head hung loose on her neck, but she managed to stand, and Phedre breathed a private sigh of relief that she would not have to try and carry her to the waiting carriage. "I'll take you home," she told Cynthea, picking up the girl's corset - it wouldn't do to leave it there for the others to find. "You did very well," she added as she helped her disciple up the stairs and into the darkness.


End file.
